Triangle
by Gemenied
Summary: Add-on to "Solidarity". Grace is in hospital after her 'accident' and has visitors.
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: Triangle

**Rating**: K+

**Disclaimer**: I don't own anything. Not even the eternal line "F*ck me, it's Billy Corkhill! (I was thinking it though)

**Summary**: Grace is in hospital after the events in "Solidarity" and she has two visitors.

**Notes**: Firstly, I'd like to thank and blame Gracebe for the title and the general idea (and for many, many other things *hugs*). I'd also like to thank CatS81 for Waterloo Bridge ;-P; and Teddy78 for the general support and being a constant source of entertainment. Also...Joodiff for her awesome stories. And last but not least ShadowSamurai83 for the beta and encouragement.

This story, an add-on to "Solidarity", just had to be written. It might be a little soap opera-is, but with that guest star...seriously? I've rarely been so hyped-up for anything, just by reading a guest star's name. And I'm still sore that they didn't even touch! I wanted a frame for my Billy/Sheila-anniversary icon!

Enjoy!

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><p><strong>Triangle<strong>

He doesn't like hospitals much. Actually, he doesn't like anything that even remotely reminds him of authorities. Considering his latest encounter, it is understandable.

It seems a little stupid after what he said during their last meeting, but still, he is here now, came as soon as he heard. Not right away, admittedly; he's spent a bit of time grooming himself and finding some of his better clothes.

He's seen the other man, and though he probably doesn't stand a chance anyway, he wants to make an effort at least, not look like a total bum in comparison. She'd never say, but he guesses that she's flown a little higher than the likes of him over the last years. Working with the police, who'd have thought?

The thought is neither here or there; he's come to make a visit to an old friend who's ill. The fact that the old friend is a woman and there's a lot of history between them doesn't really matter, does it?

Tentatively, he knocks on the door to her room, not knowing whether she's asleep or not. It would probably be good, he figures, avoids an awkward conversation. She did say that she didn't mean to mean something by their keeping in contact, after all. She might not be pleased to see him again so soon.

Her voice is soft through the door, but she's awake and knows someone is there, so he doesn't have an excuse to turn and leave. Even more hesitant than before, he opens and peers inside before actually walking in.

"Murray?" Her smile is genuine, though he thinks he detects a hint of disappointment. Could be wrong, though, because she keeps smiling as he walks closer to the bed. Single room, he's impressed.

"Hi, Grace," he says quietly, looking at her with a tentative smile. It's not as easy as it was 28 years ago. "Heard about your..." He doesn't finish, just points to the bandage that hides her surgical scar.

Grace keeps smiling and shrugs, a little embarrassedly. "Didn't plan on making a trip to hospital and ending up in surgery."

He smiles at first, then sobers. "I didn't mean..."

"It's not your fault," she replies gently and holds out her hand for him to take.

They haven't touched like that in such a long time, but he doesn't hesitate and closes the distance.

"It was an accident," she reiterates. "Nothing you could have done or not."

"But you were hurt."

"It happens, Murray." Grace is adamant and it reminds him that she isn't exactly the girl from the rallies any more. He isn't the young man, leaning against a wall in Marble Arch station any more either, but she has changed so much that he can barely reconcile it with his memory. She's a classy lady now, established, well-off, respected. He's dug up a bit of information about her and it is really a long way from Maggie's shitlist to having personal - and apparently amicable - contact with the upper echelon of the plods.

He's silent for a while, trying to make head and tail of all this. It doesn't work really, but he guesses it will be a long time before the world really makes sense to him again.

"Thanks for getting me off, with Lucy, I mean," he says after a while.

Grace smiles and shakes her head. "I told you I believe you. I meant that."

"But it's not the same thing - being innocent and proving it. You know that, working with the plods and all."

"No, it isn't."

"But you believed me."

She nods. So he moves from the chair beside her bed to actually perching on it and taking both of her hands in his. He remembers the smoothness, even though there are now calluses from age. They are warm and she doesn't pull back, just smiles slightly, and so he stays where he is.

"Why?"

Grace shrugs. "Holding on to my illusions, I guess, that not everything back then was a lie. I didn't have many left." There's a melancholy air about her that brings out the thick dialect they grew up with.

Murray smiles. She hasn't forgotten - the rare concession to their shared background. "How do you feel?"

"Like I recently had emergency surgery."

They look at each other, then snort briefly. The hectic movement can't be good, bringing back the pain she is in. She grimaces and he squeezes her hand tighter. She squeezes back and gives him a somewhat shaky smile.

"You okay?"

While Grace slowly regains her equilibrium, he takes a moment to take in her room. A private one, several get-well-cards - three, he counts - and a bouquet of fancy flowers in a vase. With slight embarrassment, Murray looks at the small assortment of wild daisies he picked on the way to the hospital. Meagre doesn't even begin to cover it.

Grace, feeling his sudden lack of focus, follows his line of sight.

The small bunch, in desperate need of a little water, makes her smile. From most men this would be cheap, with Murray it's just him.

"Can you put them into water?" she asks and he almost jumps from the bed, suddenly nervous and awkward.

He's put on a suit, something she's never seen him in, and she has to admit, he still is a striking figure if he wants to be. It's been 28 years and she noticed the first moment that they have been a lot kinder to her than to him. But then, she didn't have the death of a man from her hands on her conscious. It occurs to her that she hasn't even asked him what he's doing now, what he's done in the intervening years.

Between her almost tearful accusation of being abandoned and trying to prevent him from going to jail, actually solving the case and emergency surgery, there simply wasn't time for idle chit-chat.

It seems like an oversight now, but with her withdrawal in Hyde Park, she isn't sure she can ask.

Murray's back with a glass of water and carefully puts in the daisies. It still looks a little odd, but she nods when he places them on the nightstand.

"It's good," she says and offers him a bright, genuine smile.

Sitting back down, he shrugs. "It's not much. Not like this big bouquet over there. I just thought you might like something...from the park."

Grace doesn't stop smiling. "The kids from the office spoil me," she says as she points to the colourful arrangement. "They always splurge their money on flowers when I'm in hospital. I keep telling them it's not necessary, but they don't listen."

With her words, Murray relaxes. Even though she hasn't mentioned a husband, there's the ring on her finger, and there was that plod who was awfully protective.

"They care for you," he offers, the burning question not really answered. Flowers from colleagues, the get-well cards probably too, but it doesn't mean that she's...well...available.

"I know they do. I could just do without the hospital."

"It's really..." The guilt hits again. "You wouldn't be in this, if..."

"That's bollocks, Murray." Grace shakes her head, beginning to feel exasperated. There'll be another conversation like this, at some point, maybe, and she isn't looking forward to it. "You didn't do anything wrong. I'm just a clumsy old biddy."

He wants to protest, if it weren't for the smirk on her face. "Not old," he mumbles instead.

"But a biddy."

"Of course not!" Her smirk widens and he feels caught. And a little embarrassed at how easily she can play him. "A classy lady, you are," he fumbles and feels even more awkward than he did as a gangly teenager during the dance classes his mother insisted upon. It doesn't feel any better than back then, the awkwardness, the embarrassment, the inferiority.

So they lapse into silence.

"Why did you take it back?" he asks after a while. It isn't an accusation, not even much of hurt feelings, even though she can see that it hit him hard. It's not like Boyd, who can turn the most innocuous of statements into finger pointing. And while she's instantly uneasy with herself, she finds this a nice change from the usual.

Shrugging, she grimaces, in what she hopes is a sheepish expression. "I thought...I don't know...I wanted to be honest, I guess."

"Why?"

Once again, Grace shrugs. "It seemed like we had enough lies and enough unfinished business. You wanted me to be honest and sincere and I knew that I was making a promise I would probably not keep."

"Because of that copper?"

He sits up straighter as he asks, even though it sounds as if said in jest. It isn't, and they both know it. Years, decades might have come and gone and there is absolutely no right on either side, and he isn't even... Well, he is jealous, a little.

"What makes you say that?" There is a bit of a flush in her otherwise pale face.

"Bloke didn't like me much," he declares, making her chuckle.

"He doesn't like many people. Treats even fewer nicely..."

"...Except you."

"On occasion." She doesn't really want to elaborate, considering that it would fill weeks of ceaseless talking to just recount the events in her acquaintance with Boyd. To explain them would probably take even longer.

"Looked at me as if he'd rather beat me up than 'interview'. Gave you a hard time?"

Grace shakes her head. "Sorry if he was rude."

"It's alright." He smiles. It really is. He can't explain it, but there is something between men when they step onto the turf of another. No woman, psychologist or not, will ever understand that.

They sit like this for a while longer. He keeps holding her hands and drawing patterns on them. She doesn't mind, doesn't pull back, doesn't stop this slight smile.

His request from a few days ago still stands, but somehow they both think and know that Grace will take back taking things back. It sounds complicated - a little. But isn't really.

She yawns and he takes that as his cue, even though she demurs.

"I'll be back, Grace," he promises, but catches himself immediately afterwards.

Before he can say anything, she has nodded and squeezed his hand. "Make sure that you do, Murray. Please."

As he leaves the room, her smile firmly before his inner eye, he realizes that couldn't help but promise.

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><p>Thank you for reading. Comments would be greatly appreciated.<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

So, here we are again, because a certain person (who doesn't review...grumble) demanded I update. And to a really good triangle, obviously, you need another man, right? Here we have him. Enjoy!

A/N: For some odd reason, and the word processor on my laptop are not compatible in terms of formatting, therefore bits and pieces might be missing. That's definitely a formatting muck-up and not the fault of my awesome beta ShadowSamurai83.

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><p><strong>Part II<strong>

He hates hospitals in general and under different circumstances wouldn't even consider entering one. But the circumstances are the way they are and he has put this off for a lot longer than he should have.

It's all about the place and seeing her lying in a hospital bed, with at least a bandage on her head that will remind him that it's all his fault. She's incredible at reassuring him, will say that it wasn't his fault, but one look at the visible fact will drown it all out.

The others think him a coward. Well, most of them, and secretly he agrees. So many things in this he's handled poorly, too scared to face them head on.

It's no wonder he feels pathetic, the way he hides in a dark corner of the hallway, the bunch of flowers pushed to his side, eyeing the competition.

Despite everything that was unveiled in the course of their case, he hadn't really considered the other man competition. He seemed too...dishevelled, unhinged, rough...maybe. Not...there's no good word for it...maybe...sophisticated enough.

Now, however...he is competition.

The other man looks awfully chipper and it makes him wonder. Have they rekindled their...affair? Of course, the thought is a little ridiculous considering that she fainted and had to be rushed to the hospital, but she's kept his obvious involvement with a crime a secret all those years ago, after only knowing the man for two weeks, and she readily believed his innocence a few days ago.

It's also obvious that he scrubbed up for this visit.

That is competition.

Normally, under these circumstances, Boyd would leave, but he needs to see her. The image of her lifelessly lying on the ground - first in the park, then in the hallway - is too vivid, too agonizing. He needs to see that she's alright.

It's a difficult thing to do, putting one foot in front of the other, even though it's only a few yards. He wants to blame his clammy hands on the wet flower stems, but in truth it is nervous sweat. Knocking on the door is even harder than going there and it is only embarrassment that keeps him from delaying any longer.

Grace is surprised to see him, the question whether he has run into Murray Stewart and the oddity of the two visits in such a short time span clearly visible on her face.

"Hi," he tries. It's not a lot and it doesn't raise his chances, he quickly realizes.

"Hi," her reply is equally short.

"I..." He deliberates and finally just thrusts the flowers out to her. Grace looks at them, but that's her only reaction. "Took a while until I found the right ones," he elaborates.

That is, in fact, the understatement of the week. He's been up and down the flower shop for God knows how long, driving the shop assistant mad. What flowers, which colours, how big, how expensive? He's never made this much fuss about anything he's ever bought, not even his car or his property. But a bouquet of flowers for Grace turned into an almost unsolvable shopping obstacle. At the end of it, he was ready to yell at somebody, just to calm himself again.

He didn't and now it makes him antsy.

She finally takes the flowers and holds them to her face to smell, but that also serves to hide her expression, so he doesn't know how to take it.

A quick look to the side show a few wild daisies, unceremoniously in a glass, and he knows that they are a gift from her previous visitor. Their placement on her bedside table, apart and closer than all other offerings, is obvious and he has to fight hard to tamp down the surge of emotion that causes.

"They are lovely," she says and gently drops them to the top of her bed covers. "Thank you."

There's also a small smile and he takes this as encouragement to sit down. They've done this before, though he inanely realizes that he sat on the other side of the bed then and she took his hand and asked him to walk away. It's different now and he'll make sure that she isn't kidnapped out of hospital this time.

"What brings you here?" she finally asks, not at all sure what to make of his visit. He looks uneasy, as if he'd rather be anywhere but here. "Is something wrong with the case?"

Shaking his head, he finally looks at her. "No, I...I wanted to see how you are." His gaze is pointedly fixed on the bandage on her temple, which makes the insinuation screamingly obvious.

"I'm fine," Grace says, her smile slowly widening. "They'll let me out tomorrow night and next week I'll be as good as new." She knows him well. Knows that he's beating himself up over the entire thing.

"The others giving you a hard time?" He shrugs, but doesn't refute her words. They both know that he doesn't need the accusations of the others to feel responsible and thus guilty for her stint in here. "I told them they should leave it."

"It was my idea..."

"Yes, but I agreed. I wouldn't have gone through with it, if I had disagreed." She smiles for a moment. "And you would have known that I do." There's a small chuckle from both of them, but it's cut short when she winces in pain and he makes a quick movement as if to touch her.

She shakes her head, her face flushed, both from pain and from the...anger...she carries over the incident. "The truth is, Boyd, Spence and Sarah lost their cool in the park. They acted without thinking, didn't trust my judgement...or yours. They sabotaged the whole operation...and that's hardly your fault!"

He bristles at that. The way she paints the picture might be close to the truth, but it doesn't sit well with his picture of the world. He thrives on taking responsibility - guilt-tripping himself, she'd say - and though she'd consider this an unhealthy behaviour, it's how it is.

They are both aware of it and so there is silence for a moment, before it breaks out of him. "I should have..."

"...Yes?"

He rubs a hand over his face and exhales. He's rehearsed parts of this conversation over the last days, but faced with Grace's actual presence and her interruptions, he loses the words. It makes him feel weak and even a little pathetic, and that's not something Boyd likes.

"...Protected me?" Grace continues. Boyd doesn't need to look up to know that she is smiling. It's gentle and supportive, encouraging, and so he finally dares to look at her.

"I promised I'd protect you...you know, after Linda."

She nods, her smile quivering for a moment, and then reaches out. Without hesitation, he takes her hand and moves to her bedside. There are implications behind it, there always are with the two of them, but for once he doesn't care much. His heart feels a lot lighter now.

Grace's hand is warm and soft, very different from the other time that keeps flitting in and out of his mind. He runs his thumb over it in mindless patterns, not really aware of what he's doing. It's all warmth and soft skin over those slight signs of age.

"Can I ask you something?" he says suddenly and rolls his eyes at her smirk. She nods then, without trying to conceal her grin. He can see that she's nervous underneath, not sure where he is going. He eyes her for a few moments and then all but blurts out, "You were quite a firecracker when you were young, were you?"

She gapes, so does he.

The room is so silent that you can hear a pin drop.

"What?" she gasps out after a while.

Boyd pulls back, horribly reminded of the awkward blunders he made as a teenager. He's a brash man with little sense of tact, but usually he isn't that...much of a bumble. What made him ask that question out loud will be a mystery forever, quite frankly one he doesn't want to solve.

"Forget it," he says and pulls his hand away, but this time it's Grace who takes the initiative, holding tightly onto him.

"No."

"Grace!" he moans, feeling embarrassed and, for crying out loud, he doesn't like that feeling either. It's not getting better when he realizes that she enjoys his predicament just a little too much.

"Do you ask this in reference to any particular...habit...of mine?" Her smirk is probably audible outside the building. "Or is this a general description? Assumption? Envious realization?"

He wants to shout at her, what makes her think that he could be envious, but she's still smirking and...not too far off the mark. Sometimes dealing with Grace is neigh to impossible. He looks at the flowers, still on the covers, and remembers why he went to all this length to find the perfect arrangement.

Even now, he wouldn't consider saying anything out loud, wouldn't even consciously think about what they are and how they are together. But times are changing and the end is coming closer and closer. Yet again, she's in hospital, and even though he didn't come to see her, he's pestered the doctors and nurses about updates on her condition.

She was lucky, and so was he. Next time it could be different.

Next time could be the final stroke.

And then, there is the competition.

"How come you trusted Murray Stewart so easily?" he finally asks. The word 'twice' isn't mentioned, but they can both hear it. "What was...is it about him?"

Grace doesn't answer.

"Why do you trust him?"

"I trust you."

"It's not the same thing," he replies, his temper rising.

A shake of her head stops him. "It is, Boyd." She falls back against the pillow and looks away for a moment. He'd love to prod her to continue, but he wants a comprehensive answer, not a shouted one, so he remains silent.

"I'm not blind to what he did, I wasn't blind to his secrets back then, but I knew that Murray would never deliberately hurt me. I knew that this time too. Otherwise I wouldn't have gone with your idea."

"You could have been wrong," Boyd replies, a little woodenly.

She turns and gives him a calm smile. "I wasn't. And we both knew that beforehand, because..." Grace pauses, not sure if she should be as candid as she plans on being. It's always so bloody difficult between them, saying the things they actually want to say. They never do, instead engage in a dance of witty banter when it comes to the nameless 'it' that is their relationship. They never defined it and now, with the end of their professional association looming ever larger above them, it seems as if the time for witty, but superficial, banter is also coming to an end, lest they throw away...something.

Yet he's not one for declaring his feelings. In fact, if he ever uttered something that amounts to love or need, she'll probably faint on the spot. And she has... gotten so used to doing things the way that is expected of her that she'll rather let things that bother her slide. Out of consideration. Or stupidity.

"Because...?" he asks, his expression oddly enough daring her to speak.

"Because..." It's a battle inside her trying to find out, how far she can go.

The silence is long with them staring at each other, daring each other to continue, finish the sentence. But neither does. They can both feel frustration build, in themselves and in the other. For grown people they are incredibly...immature.

But it would be a weakness to say it, wouldn't it?

He looks at the flowers on her lap, remembering why he went to such length to find just the right ones. The shop assistant said that flowers have special meanings, that you could say something specific with a certain flower. He doesn't know whether Grace knows about this too and therefore understands what the many differently coloured roses really mean. In a way, he hopes so. In another, it would be easier if she didn't understand.

She finally breaks the silence and they do some inane chit chat for a while. It's painful and frustrating, but they both have years of experience with that.

When he finally rises, she squeezes his hand, and for a moment he thinks they've successfully managed to navigate around yet another obstacle in their way. However, there is a certain tightness in her expression that even he realizes is pain, and it's not physical.

"Don't be so hard on them, Boyd," Grace implores and squeezes his hand tighter. "And don't be so hard on yourself. It wasn't your fault."

He's almost at the door when it hits him. So he turns and looks at her for a long moment. "I'd never deliberately put you into danger, Grace. Everybody else maybe, but not you."

Before she can reply, Boyd's out of the door, hurrying away. So Grace has to say it to the empty room.

"That's why I trust you."

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><p>Thank you for reading. Comments would be greatly appreciated.<p> 


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